


Getting Started

by thingsKTsays



Series: Going Bhakti Basics [2]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Blow Jobs, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Yoga
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-17
Updated: 2015-10-17
Packaged: 2018-04-26 07:00:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4994740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thingsKTsays/pseuds/thingsKTsays
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Patrick isn't expecting to find his zen buried in Jonny's crotch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Getting Started

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to all of my enablers, who continuously cracked the whip even when I whined about writing blow jobs (especially then).
> 
> Thanks to S for giving it a look over.
> 
> The pose Jonny is doing here is the Pigeon Pose.

They don’t talk about it, what happened the last time Patrick walked in on Jonny doing hippie stretches ( _yoga_ , he’s since learned, which - what. Who even does that, for real?), but they also don’t start closing their adjoining doors at night.

It’s been a couple of weeks, though, and every time Patrick has innocently wandered into Jonny’s hotel room since then Jonny’s been doing mundane shit - watching TV in his underwear, brushing his teeth in his underwear, doing push-ups in his underwear… Granted, that last one was a nicer-than-usual sight to walk in on, and Patrick joked about sitting on Jonny’s back to see if he could lift them both, but still. Mundane. The weird mat ( _yoga mat_ , Jonny has a goddamn _yoga mat_ , that he takes on roadtrips. The mind boggles) hasn’t even been out, or wasn’t brought along. Wherever it was, Patrick couldn’t find it in his snooping.

Patrick has almost put the incident aside as some strange one-off thing that happened because of a long road trip and a resounding win (suck it, St. Louis), until…

Until Patrick wanders over into Jonny’s room in his boxers and t-shirt, expecting more of the same boring-but-not shit, and instead sees Jonny on the floor, yoga mat spread out over the carpet. He’s on his knees, arched backwards so that his elbows are on the ground behind his feet, torso stretched obscenely. Patrick can’t see Jonny’s face, because he’s positioned with his knees closest to where Patrick stands, frozen in the doorway, but even if his face was visible there is no way Patrick would be paying it any attention because Jonny’s dick is _right there_.

He’s wearing light blue boxer briefs this time, the pale colour a stark difference from the still-fading tan on his thighs and stomach, and Patrick has never seen them before. They’re strained across his dick, though, and it’s getting thicker the longer Patrick watches. He can see the way it curves slightly up from where it’s tucked to the right.

Jonny inhales, his ribcage expanding, his body shifting slightly, and then exhales, slow, slow, thighs spreading just a bit wider as he does, his hips lifting until his pelvis and thighs are almost ninety degrees from the floor. Patrick’s mouth waters.

Patrick’s mouth waters, and Jonny’s dick is _right there_.

He wants to pounce, wants to bury his face in the space between Jonny’s thighs like he did to Jonny’s ass last time, wants to lick and suck, and maybe actually pull the underwear down this time, get his mouth on skin, find out what Jonny tastes like without any barriers. He wants to see if Jonny can hold the pose the entire time, the way he couldn’t last time, collapsing down at the end. Wants to see if Jonny can keep his arms back, holding his body up even while Patrick sucks his dick, if he can resist the urge to grab Patrick’s hair, hold him down and thrust, fuck his mouth until he comes.

He wants all of those things, but instead he waits, leaning back against the adjoining door, not saying anything. Because Jonny wasn’t hard before Patrick came in, and it’s not the yoga that turns him on. It’s a mixture of Patrick himself and being watched, and Patrick always knew that Jonny had a bit of an exhibitionist streak, but this is ridiculous.

The lighting is low, with only the bedside lamps casting a glow, but Jonny has moved one closer, to the side. It’s artfully lighting up his body, putting it on display, letting Patrick see everything. Jonny’s dick is lit up, the fucking centrepiece of the tableau of his contorted body, and it’s almost fully hard, it must be, so thick, and Patrick can already see a small damp patch right at the head.

Jonny inhales, his hips pulling up along with his ribs, and Patrick palms his dick through his boxers idly. There’s no way that Jonny knows what Patrick’s doing with the way he’s facing away from him, but that just makes it better. He knows Patrick is there, knows he’s looking at Jonny, but he could be doing _anything_ , and Jonny wouldn’t know unless Patrick wanted him to.

He steps forward, still cupping his dick, softly rubbing, and Jonny exhales, relaxing just a touch, but Patrick can see the lines of tension in his shoulder and thighs. They inhale together, and Patrick takes another step forward, slow, deliberate, and heavy. He rubs at his dick more and glances back down at Jonny’s body, right in front of him now, sees the small, aborted hip thrust he tries to make. He doesn’t have enough leverage to move much, his body already strained, but it’s still visible, and Patrick can feel how precum is beading up on the tip of his dick, soaking into his boxers.

God, he wants. And Jonny knows it, is getting off on it, on how much Patrick wants and the way Patrick is just _looking_ , and if Patrick had more self-discipline he would stay where he is, pull out his cock and start jerking off slow and steady while Jonny waited and shook. He’d see if Jonny could come untouched, without anything against his dick again, or if he needs more. But Patrick doesn’t have that kind of control, can’t in the face of Jonny looking so hot and ready for him, putting himself on display just for Patrick to see, to taste, to take.

He doesn’t have that control, so he takes a step closer, another, and another, before dropping to his knees right in front of Jonny. All he can see is Jonny’s strong, thick thighs, the sharp outline of his cock, the damp patch on his boxer briefs from precum, the long stretch of his stomach. Patrick wants to taste every inch of him. He wants to dig his nails in and leave angry red lines on his abs. He wants to devour Jonny, wants to consume him, wants to dive inside of him and never come out again.

All he does is lean down, though, putting his mouth closer and closer to Jonny’s dick, and thinks about how Jonny can’t even see him, can only guess at what Patrick’s going to do next. Maybe Patrick’s going to bite at Jonny’s hips. Maybe he’s going to mouth at Jonny’s balls, suck on them through the cotton. Maybe he’s going to just kneel here and jerk off until he comes all over Jonny’s cotton-covered dick. Jonny wouldn’t know, not until it was happening, wouldn’t be able to brace himself. He presses his face right beside where Jonny’s dick is wetting his boxer briefs, inhaling the strong, musky scent, and licks softly at the head.

The taste of Jonny _explodes_ across his tongue. 

He can’t get enough. He was just going to tease, was just going to work Jonny up, nice and light and barely there, but that _taste. Jonny’s_ taste. He just - he can’t hold back.

He can’t hold back, doesn’t even want to, now, he needs more. He needs to get his mouth on Jonny’s skin, needs to feel Jonny on his tongue, the silky softness of his skin, his hard dick. He wants to suck the cum right out of Jonny, swallow down everything Jonny can give him, push him until he can’t give any more. He wants to make Jonny tremble and shake, wants to really test his control, make him work to hold the pose.

Patrick hooks his thumbs in Jonny’s boxer briefs, his fingers brushing against Jonny’s stomach, his hips. He pulls the fabric down, makes sure it drags over Jonny’s dick, just to hear the hitch in his breath, to see the way Jonny’s abs twitch. It’s fucking intoxicating.

Jonny’s dick is revealed, inch by inch, and it’s perfect. It’s everything Patrick wants, and he’s done waiting, has been done for ages now. He’s got his mouth on the head, sucking and licking, before Jonny’s boxers are even all the way down, hooked under his balls. And god, Jonny tastes so fucking good. Patrick knows he’ll never get enough of it, not the taste, not the weight in his mouth, not the way Jonny’s body is stretched out, on display just for him.

He keeps mouthing at the head, practically drooling, and Jonny is moaning nonstop. Patrick has never felt more powerful. He takes in more, wraps his hands tightly around Jonny’s hips, just drinks in the sound and scent of him, and he loves every moment of this. He’d hold off, just tease for longer, but we wants to see how much he can take, how far he can push Jonny. He wants to see what it takes to make Jonny break, what he has to do, how far he has to go.

He goes down, all the way, Jonny’s dick already sloppy wet with spit, and the slide down is easy until he gets to the back of his throat. He pulls up, works his tongue on the underside, relishes in how Jonny can’t seem to make his thighs stop shaking, can’t hold back the noises spilling from his lips. Patrick works Jonny’s dick, messy and enthusiastic, and reaches down to cup Jonny’s balls, and Jonny fucking _whimpers_.

His knees are sore, his back arched awkwardly, but Patrick never wants to move from this position. He never wants to stop touching Jonny, feeling the soft skin of his drawn-up balls and the hard angle of his hips, never wants to stop pulling those noises from him, like he’d die if Patrick stopped.

He doesn’t want to stop, but God, he wants to get off, and he can’t until Jonny does. 

He doesn’t even know why he can’t, just that - that - he _needs_ to see Jonny come undone, needs to make him lose it, lose control. He tightens his lips around Jonny’s cock, sucks and slurps at the hard, hot weight in his mouth, groaning at the thought of Jonny - of Jonny coming in his _mouth_ and on his _face_ , and not being able to see him, but _knowing_ what Patrick was doing, wanting it, _presenting himself_ for it. He takes Jonny down, and down, tongue rubbing against the thick vein on the underside of Jonny’s cock, and he must sound so _desperate_ for it, all wet slurping and deep moans, and Jonny’s shaking, making little _ugh, ugh, ugh_ noises, and then -

He’s not expecting it, somehow, but Jonny’s arches, thrusts his hips, his entire body, towards Patrick, and he’s coming, the taste flooding Patrick’s mouth, faster than he can swallow, spilling out across his lips, down his chin. It’s so good, and Jonny is making the _stupidest_ noises, and it’s so fucking hot.

He pulls back a little, still sucking lightly, savouring the taste, and Jonny can’t stop trembling, tiny aborted muscle spasms as Patrick gives a last small lick across the head of his dick.

"S’that the best you can do?" Jonny says, and his voice is heavy and slow and wrecked from his orgasm, but fuck. Fuck if that doesn't just send a bolt of pleasure lancing down Kaner's spine, settling in his dick.

He sits up straight, the taste of Jonny still in his mouth, on his lips, the smell of Jonny’s come surrounding him, and pushes his boxers down. Patrick moans at the feeling of his dick finally being freed from his underwear, and wipes at where Jonny’s come spilled out of his mouth, trickled down his chin. He gathers it in his fingers, staring down at Jonny’s flushed and sweaty torso, and wraps his hand around his dick, massaging the come in, slicking the way.

He jerks off, hard and fast - he’s not going to last long, doesn’t even want to, and Jonny is still laid out before him like a fucking _feast_. Patrick licks his lips, tasting Jonny all over again, and braces himself, one hand clenched around Jonny’s hip, the other working his cock, and he’s going to come, he’s going to come all over Jonny’s spent dick, mark him up and claim him, he’s going to -

Fuck.

Fuck. He watches, completely enraptured, as strips of his come land on Jonny’s balls, his hips, his cock. Jonny twitches, and Patrick can’t help but take his hand off his own dick, wrap it softly around Jonny’s and slowly jerk him off with the come Patrick put there.

Jonny groans, pain and pleasure mixed into the sound, and collapses to the side, curling protectively over his cock.

“I’m just getting started,” Patrick finally says, voice so raspy and shot that it comes out more like a growl.

He can just see the way that the corner of Jonny’s mouth curls up in satisfaction before he lets himself fall backwards onto the floor.

They breathe in together.

They breathe out.

It’s a good start.


End file.
